Moonlight Becomes You
by SpicySugar
Summary: DISCONTINUED! Hermione, a widow for 5 years and an extremely successful photographer for the Daily Prophet, stumbles upon her long-lost stepmother at a cocktail party. From there, her life gets turned upside down in a mystery, where the hunter becomes th
1. Prologue

AN: Okay, this is a REALLY good day for me, you guys. I came up with not one, but TWO new fan-fiction ideas today. TWO IN THE SAME DAY!!!! One while in the shower this morning, and the other while eating cereal this afternoon. Odd occurrences . . . Anywho, this fan-fiction is going to be loosely based off of the book _Moonlight Becomes You_ by Mary Higgins Clark. She is an absolutely wonderful mystery writer and I highly recommend her books to any mystery fans. Now, enough of this pointless ranting and on with the story! Which, by the way, will have much longer chapters than this one. This is just the prologue.

Disclaimer: I do not, I repeat, DO NOT own Harry Potter and Company and I DO NOT own Mary Higgins Clark's book _Moonlight Becomes You _or the characters I use from it. Thank you, and enjoy the show . . . errr . . . story. Right.

**- - -**

_Moonlight Becomes You (Harry Potter Style)_

By SpicySugar

**- - -**

Prologue:

**Tuesday, October 8th**

_Hermione tried to open her eyes, but the effort was too great. Her head hurt so much. Where was she? What had happened? She raised her hand, but it was stopped inches above her body, unable to move any farther._

_Instinctively she pushed at the overhead barrier, but it did not move. What was it? It felt soft, like satin, and it was cold._

_She slid her fingers to the side and down; the surface changed. Now it felt ruffled. A quilt? Was she in some kind of bed?_

_She pushed out her other hand to the side and recoiled as that palm immediately encountered the same chill ruffles. They were on both sides of this narrow enclosure._

_What was tugging at her ring when she moved her left hand? She ran her thumb over her ring finger, felt it touch string or cord. But why?_

_Then memory came rushing back._

_Her eyes opened and stared in terror at absolute darkness._

_Frantically, her mind raced as she tried to piece together what had happened. She had heard him in time to whirl around just as something crashed down on her head._

_She remembered him bending over her, whispering, "Hermione, think of the bell ringers." After that, she remembered nothing._

_Still disoriented and terrified, she struggled to understand. Then suddenly it came flooding back. The bell ringers! Victorians had been so afraid of being buried alive that it became a tradition to tie a string to their fingers before internment. A string threaded through a hole in the casket, stretching to the surface of the burial plot. A string with a bell attached to it._

_For seven days a guard would patrol the grave and listen for the sound of a bell ringing, the signal that the interred wasn't dead after all . . . _

_But Hermione knew that no guard was listening for her. She was truly alone. She tried to scream, but no sound came. Frantically she tugged at the string, straining, listening, hoping to hear above her a faint, pealing sound. But there was only silence. Darkness and silence._

_She had to keep calm. She had to focus. How had she gotten here? She couldn't let panic overwhelm her. But how? . . . How? . . ._

_Then she remembered. The funeral museum. She'd gone back there alone. Then she'd taken up the search, the search that Nuala had begun. Then he'd come, and . . . _

_Oh God! _She was buried alive! _She pounded her fists on the lid of the casket, but even inside, the thick satin muffled the sound. Finally she screamed. Screamed until she was hoarse, until she couldn't scream anymore. And still she was alone._

_The bell. She yanked on the string . . . again . . . and again. Surely it was sending out sounds. She couldn't hear them, but someone would. They must!_

_Overhead a mound of fresh, raw earth shimmered in the light of the full moon. The only movement came from the bronze bell attached to a pipe emerging from the mound: the bell moved back and forth in an arrhythmic dance of death. Round about it, all was silent. It's clapper had been removed._

**- - -**

AN: How do you all like _that_? Pretty suspenseful, huh? And, if you all thought that was my lovely work of writing, I feel highly honored. That was just an excerpt from _Moonlight Becomes You_. From now on though, I won't be copying out of the book, except for maybe a sentence or two as the start and finish of the chapters and important dialogue. So, please tell me what you think by reviewing!


	2. Friday, September 20th

AN: Here I am again! My story got three reviews within a half hour of being posted, but it has even more now, of course. I'm impressed. Of course, that's not at all up to my, well, _usual _standard, but hey, it's a new story that has yet to be discovered. I'm not complaining. Enough jibber jabber, let's get to the story!

Disclaimer: See chapter one

- - -

**Chapter 1**

- - -

Friday, September 20th

- - -

_I hate cocktail parties,_ Hermione though wryly, wondering why she always felt like an alien when she attended one. _Actually, I'm being too harsh, _she thought. _The truth is I only hate cocktail parties where the only person I know is my supposed date, and he abandons me the minute we walk in the door._

She looked around the large room and sighed. When Liam Moore Payne had invited her to this reunion of the Moore family, she should have guessed that he would be more interested in visiting with his relatives that paying any attention to her. Liam, an occasional but normally thoughtful date was displaying a boundless faith in her ability to fend for herself. Well, it was a large gathering, surely she could find someone to talk to.

_The Moores certainly come in all shapes and sizes, _Hermione thought as she looked around the room. She watched two people, a man and a woman, in animated conversation, seeing them through the lens of her camera, which she wished she had brought with her. The pleasure they were taking in each other's company would have been the perfect picture. Liam suddenly appeared beside Hermione.

"Having a good time?" he asked, but then, without waiting for an answer, introduced her to yet another cousin, Earl Bateman, who, Hermione was amused to note, studied her with obvious and unhurried interest. She judged the newcomer to be, like Liam, in his late-thirties. Sandy haired with a sallow complexion, along with pale blue eyes, he didn't have Liam's rugged good looks. Liam's eyes were green, and his hair attractively flecked with gray. Hermione waited while Earl continued to look her over.

Then, after a long moment, with a raised eyebrow, she asked, "Do I pass inspection?"

He looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at remembering names, and I was trying to place you. You _are_ one of the family, right?"

"No, but it doesn't look as though you need any more cousins anyhow," said Hermione, fighting a laugh.

"You couldn't be any more right about that. Too bad, though, most of them aren't nearly as attractive as you," he said. Hermione felt herself blushing.

"_Liam! Earl! _Oh, for the love of God, I guess I'm glad I came after all." Forgetting Hermione, both men turned to enthusiastically greet the florid-faced man who came up behind them. Hermione shrugged. _So much for that_, she thought, as she retreated to a corner. Then she remembered an article she had read recently in _Witch Weekly_ that urged people who felt isolated in a social situation to find someone who seemed even more desperate and start up conversation. Chuckling to herself, she decided to give that a try. If that didn't work, she would go back to her flat. Right now, the prospect of her luxurious flat was very inviting. She knew she should have stayed in tonight. After all, she'd only been back a few days from a two-week-long photo shoot on a Dragon clan in Romania, and she longed for a quiet, relaxing evening.

But, looking around, there didn't seem to be a single person who wasn't fighting to be heard. _Countdown to exit,_ she thought. The she heard a voice nearby—a melodic, familiar voice, one that spurred sudden, pleasant memories. She spun around. The voice belonged to a woman who was ascending a short staircase to the balcony area of the restaurant. Hermione stared, and gasped. Was she crazy? Could it possibly be Nuala? It had been so long ago, yet she sounded just like the woman who had once been her aunt, from the time she was five until she was ten. Her Uncle Robert, who was her father's brother, and his wife Nuala had lived with her and her parents. After Uncle Robert and Nuala had divorced, her uncle had forbidden even the mention of Nuala's name. They had gotten into a large argument on the day she had gotten her Hogwarts letter. Her uncle had been extremely angry about it, saying it was mortally wrong to be learning about magic and witchcraft. Nuala hadn't seen anything wrong with it. Hence, they got so angry with each other that Nuala walked out on Uncle Robert, her only regret being that she was leaving Hermione behind. Hermione snapped out of her reverie and grabbed Liam, who was passing.

"Liam, that woman on the balcony stairs, do you know her?"

He squinted. "Oh, that's Nuala. She was married to my dad before he died. She's a bit of a character, but a lot of fun. Why?"

Hermione didn't answer but made her way through the crowd of people to the stairs. By the time she reached her destination, Nuala was already on the balcony, chatting with a small group of people.

When Nuala had left, so abruptly, Hermione had prayed that she would write. She never did, though, and Hermione had found her silence especially painful. She had come to feel so close to her in the five years the marriage had lasted. It was only after her uncle's death that Hermione learned from a family friend that Robert had destroyed all the letters and returned all the gifts Nuala had sent to her.

Hermione now stared at the tiny figure with lively blue eyes and soft honey-blond hair. She could see the wrinkles that detracted not a bit from her lovely complexion. And as she stared, memories flooded her heart: childhood memories, perhaps her happiest. Nuala always took _her_ part in arguments, protesting to Hermione's uncle, "Robert, for the love of heaven, she's just a child. Stop correcting her every minute" . . . "Robert, all the kids her age wear jeans and tee shirts" . . . "Robert, so what if she used up three rolls of film? She likes taking pictures, and she's good at it." Nuala, always so pretty, so fun, always so patient with Hermione's questions. Typically, Nuala was dressed tonight in a pale blue satin cocktail suit and matching high-heels. Hermione's memories of her were always pastel tinted. _Nuala had been in her late forties when she married Uncle Robert_, Hermione thought, trying to figure her age now. _She made it through five years with him. She left twenty-two years ago._ It was a shock to realize that Nuala must now be in her mid-seventies. She certainly didn't look it.

Their eyes met. Nuala frowned, the looked puzzled. _Nuala had told me that her name was actually Finnuala, _Hermione thought. She remembered how as a little girl she had delighted in trying to pronounce _Finn-u-ala_.

"Finn-u-ala?" she said now, her voice tentative. A look of total astonishment crossed the older woman's face. Then she emitted a whoop of delight that stopped the buzz of conversations around them, and Hermione found herself once again wrapped up in Nuala's loving arms. Nuala was wearing the faint scent that all these years had lingered in Hermione's memory. When she was eighteen, she had discovered the scent was called Joy. How appropriate for tonight.

"Let me look at you," Nuala exclaimed, releasing her and stepping back but still holding Hermione's arms with both hands as though afraid she would run away. Her eyes searched Hermione's face. "I never thought I'd see you again! Oh Hermione! How is that dreadful man, your uncle?"

"He died three years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry darling. But he was totally impossible to the end, I'm sure."

"Never too easy," Hermione admitted.

"Hermione, I was _married _to him! I know! He could have posed for a medieval stained-glass window, he was so old-fashioned and stiff . . ." Aware suddenly that others were openly listening in, Nuala slid her arm around Hermione's waist and announced, "This is my child! I didn't give birth to her, of course, but that's totally unimportant."

Hermione realized that Nuala was also blinking back tears.

Anxious to both talk and escape the crush of the crowd, they both slipped out to go to a smaller restaurant. Hermione couldn't find Liam to say good-bye, but was quite sure she would not be missed.

- - -

Arm in arm, Hermione and Nuala walked up the street through the deepening September twilight to an Italian restaurant. Over salad and breadsticks, they caught up on each other's lives.

For Hermione, it was simple. "I ended up going to Hogwarts, then when I graduated from there I tried to become an Auror, which is a dark-wizard fighter, found it too trying, unlike my two best friends, so I dropped out of the training and attempted to get a job at the _Daily Prophet_, the wizard newspaper. I'm making an excellent living there now as their top photographer."

"That's wonderful. I always knew you'd go into photography, although I suppose it's a bit different with wizards."

"Just a little. With wizards, the pictures move."

"They _move_?" said Nuala.

"Well, yes. Here, look," said Hermione, and she pulled a picture out of her purse. It showed her, Harry, and Ron on their graduating day of Hogwarts. They were all smiling and waving, wearing white robes instead of black.

"That's me, in the middle, I was the top of our year. Then, on the left is Harry, he's now a wizard lawyer, but an Auror on the side, and on the right is Ron. He's still going strong as an Auror, and he's one of the Ministry of Magic's best ones, besides Harry, but since he only comes in part time, they don't really count him. They were my best friends all through school."

"Well would you look at that. You'll have to show me some more of these wizard tricks some other time," said Nuala keenly.

"Well, you've heard enough about me, how about you, Nuala?" asked Hermione.

"No. Let's finish with you," the older woman interrupted. "You live in London. You've got a job you like. You've stuck to developing what is a natural talent. You're just as pretty as I knew you'd be. You were thirty-two your last birthday. What about a love interest or a significant other or whatever it is you young people call it these days?"

Hermione felt the familiar wrench as she said flatly, "I was married for three years. His name was Paul, and he graduated from Auror training as well. He was killed trying to defend a family from the Dark Lord's followers. It was five years ago. It's a shock that I may never get over. Anyway, it's still hard to talk about him."

"Oh, Hermione." There was a world of understanding in Nuala's voice. Hermione remembered that Nuala had been a widow when she married her uncle.

Shaking her head, Nuala murmured, "Why do things like that have to happen?" Then her tone brightened. "Shall we order?"

Over dinner they caught up on twenty-two years. After the divorce from Hermione's uncle, Nuala had moved to London, then visited a small town where she met Timothy Moore—someone she had actually dated as a teenager—and married him. "My third and last husband," she said, "and do I ever miss him! He wasn't one of the overly wealthy Moores, but I have a sweet house in Fairford, and an adequate income, plus I'm still dabbling at painting, so I'm all right."

But Hermione saw a brief flicker of uncertainty cross the woman's face and realized that without the brisk, cheerful expression, Nuala looked every day of her age.

"_Really_ all right, Nuala?" she asked quietly. "You seem . . . worried."

"Oh, yes, I'm fine, it's just . . . well, you see, I turned seventy-five last month. Years ago, someone told me that when you get to your sixties, you start to say good-bye to some of your friends, or they say good-bye to you, but that's when you hit your seventies, it happens all the time. Believe me, it's true. I've lost a number of friends lately, and each loss hurts a little more than the last. It's getting a bit lonely here in London, but there's a wonderful residence—I _hate_ the word nursing home—and I'm thinking of going to live there soon. The kind of apartment I want there has just become available."

Then, as the waiter poured espresso, she said urgently, "Hermione, come visit me, _please_. Fairford is only an hour drive from London."

"I'd love to," Hermione responded.

"You mean it?"

"Absolutely. Now that I've found you, I'm not going to let you get away again. Besides, it's been in the back of my mind to go to Fairford. I've heard it's a photographer's paradise. As a matter of fact—"

She was just about to tell Nuala that as of next week she had cleared her calendar to allow time to take a much needed vacation when she heard someone say, "I thought I'd find you here."

Startled, Hermione looked up. Standing over them were Liam and his cousin Earl Bateman. "You ran out on me," Liam said reprovingly.

Earl bent down to kiss Nuala. "You're in hot water for spiriting away his date. How do you two know each other?"

"It's a long story." Nuala smiled. "Earl lives in Fairfield, too," she explained to Hermione. "He teaches anthropology at a college near there.

_I was right about the scholarly look_, Hermione thought.

Liam pulled up a chair from a nearby table and sat down. "You have to let us have an after-dinner drink with you." He smiled at Earl. "And don't worry about Earl. He's strange, but he's harmless. His branch of the family has been in the funeral business for over a hundred years. _They_ bury people, _he_ digs them up! He's a ghoul. He even makes money talking about it."

Hermione raised her eyebrows as the others laughed.

"I lecture on funeral customs through the ages," Earl Bateman explained with a slight smile. "Some may find it macabre, but I love it."

- - -

AN: And that's the end of the first chapter! Pretty long by my standards, if I do say so myself. Four full pages on size 10 Verdana font in Microsoft Word. But that's not important. The important thing is that you review! NOW!


	3. Friday, September 27th Part 1

AN: Hey all! Sorry for the long wait to update. And, sorry for the fact that this chapter is so short, but you'll see why I left it off where I did when you get to the end of the chapter. Oh, and if any of you from around the Newport, Rhode Island area recognize anything a tad bit familiar, that's because that's where the book is set, and it's very hard to change it from Newport to London, so I'm going to be using the same names for some of the buildings. And that's all I have to say, so . . . on with the chapter!

Disclaimer: I'm not even going to say it, because you know already.

:: :: ::

**Chapter 2**

**xxxxxx**

Friday, September 27th

:: :: ::

He strode briskly down a main street, his hair blown by the stiff wind that had sprung up earlier that afternoon. The sun had been quite warm at the height of day, but down its rays were no use against the sharp wind. It seemed to him that the shift in the air had reflected his own changing mood.

Till now he had been successful in his plan of action, but with Nuala's dinner party only two hours away, a premonition was coming over him. Nuala would become suspicious and start to confide in her stepdaughter. Everything could start to unravel.

Deep in thought, he paused as he came to The Breakers, that most marvelously ostentatious jewel, that palace, that breathtaking example of what money, and imagination, and driving ambition could achieve . . . pathetic. It was built in the 1890's, and although exquisite, it was nothing compared to the next exhibit.

Fifteen minutes later he came upon it: Latham Manor, the magnificent edifice that had been a worthy, more tasteful competitor to the vulgarity of The Breakers. Originally the proud property of the eccentric Latham family, it had fallen into disrepair in the lifetime of the last Latham. Rescued from ruin and restored to reflect much of its earlier grandeur, it was now the residence of wealthy retirees, living out their last years in opulence.

He stopped, feasting his eyes on Latham Manor's majestic white marble exterior. He reached into the deep pocket of his windbreaker and pulled out a cell phone. He dialed quickly, and then smiled slightly as the voice he had hoped answered. It meant one less thing he had to worry about later.

He said two words, "Not tonight."

"Then, when?" a calm, noncommittal voice asked after a slight pause.

"I'm not sure yet. I have to take care of something else." His voice was sharp. He did not permit questions about his decisions.

"Of course. Sorry."

Breaking the connection without further comment, he turned and began to walk swiftly.

It was time to get ready for Nuala's dinner party.

xxxxxx

Nuala Moore hummed as she sliced tomatoes on the cutting board of her cheerfully untidy kitchen, her movements quick and confident. The late afternoon sun was about to set, and a stiff breeze was rattling the window over the sink. She could already feel a slight chill seeping through the poorly insulated back wall.

Even so, she knew her kitchen was warm and inviting with it's red-and-white colonial paper, worn red-brick linoleum, and pine shelves nd cabinets. When she finished slicing the tomatoes, she reached for the onions. A tomato and onion salad marinated in oil and vinegar and generously sprinkled with oregano was a perfect accompaniment to a roast leg of lamb. Her fingers were crossed that Hermione still loved lamb. When she was little it had been one of her favorites. '_Maybe I should have asked her_,' Nuala thought, '_but I want to surprise her._' At least she knew Hermione wasn't a vegetarian—she had ordered veal the night they were together in Manhattan.

The potatoes were already bouncing in the big pot. When they had finished boiling, she would drain them, but not mash them until the last minute. A tray of biscuits was ready to pop in the oven, and the green beans and carrots were all prepared, ready to be steamed minutes before she seated her guests. (AN: Isn't this making you HUNGRY? It's torture typing it!)

Nuala peered into the dining room, double-checking. The table was set, she had done that first thing this morning. Hermione would sit opposite her in the other host chair. A symbolic gesture, she knew. Co hostesses this evening, like mother and daughter.

She leaned against the doorframe for a moment, reflecting. It would be wonderful to have someone with whom she could at last share this terrible worry. She would wait a day or two, the she would say, "Hermione, I have to talk with you about something. Maybe I'm crazy or just an old, suspicious fool, but . . ."

It would be so good to lay her suspicions before Hermione. Even when she was little she had a clear, analytical mind. "Finn-u-ala," she would begin when she wanted to share a confidence, '_her way of letting me know that this was going to be a very serious discussion,'_ Nuala remembered.

'_I should have waited until tomorrow night to have this party,'_ she thought. _'I should have given Hermione a chance to at least catch her breath. Oh well, typical of me—I always act first and think later.'_

But she had wanted to show Hermione off to her friends after talking about her so much. And also, when she asked them to dinner, she had thought that Hermione was arriving a day earlier, but Hermione had phoned yesterday to say there was a problem with one of the jobs, that it was going to take more than expected to complete.

"The art director is a nervous Nelly and is agonizing over the shots," she had explained, "so I can't come until about four or four thirty tomorrow."

Then, at four today, Hermione had phoned. "Nuala, I tried to call a couple of times earlier, but the line was busy. I'm still stuck here with this stupid director, and he won't let me leave until seven thirty, so I'll come right over then.

"But, Hermione, it's an hours drive from London to Fairfield!" Nuala had replied. "You'll never make it in time!"

"Oh, Nuala, don't worry about that! I'll Apparate right inside your house promptly at seven thirty into the guest bedroom that I'll be staying in. I'll be sure to let you know I'm there so I don't scare you, all right?"

"Apparate? What in the world is that?"

"It means that I disappear from the studio and reappear in your house at almost the exact same moment," she had explained.

"Oh, it's another one of those wizard terms I'll have to get used to, I suppose," Nuala had replied with a laugh.

"I'll see you soon, Nuala."

That was how the conversation had ended. Thinking about it, Nuala smiled. It would have been awful if Hermione had been delayed yet another day because of that darn director.

Since there was nothing more she could do for the moment, Nuala decided to sit down and watch the early evening news. That would still leave her time for a nice, hot, relaxing bath before people started to arrive.

She was about to leave the kitchen when there was a rap at the back door. Before she could look through the window to see who was there, the handle turned. For the moment she was startled, but as the door opened and her visitor stepped in, she smiled warmly.

"Hello there," she said. "Good to see you, but you're not due for another couple of hours, so you can't stay very long."

"I don't plan to stay long," her visitor said quietly.

:: :: ::

AN: Oooooh, I bet that just sent chills up and down your spine! Now you see why I simply COULDN'T continue! But, I do promise a very long chapter next time to make up for it, and it will be updated MUCH sooner than this chapter!


	4. DISCONTINUATION!

AN: Hey all, I'm going to be discontinuing Moonlight Becomes You for the following reasons:

It's very hard to base a story with totally different characters off of a book with out totally copying every word.

It takes too much time, and I have too many other decent stories to be worrying about.

It doesn't have that many reviews anyway.

I'm terribly sorry if you were rather attached to that story, especially for the H/H action that was supposed to come along later, but there wasn't really any "action" at all, and even if there was, it wouldn't be until the very, VERY end of the story. But, just for the sake of knowing, I'll tell you all how the book ends:

Liam was the one who had buried Hermione alive, Liam owns Latham Manor, and Harry rescued Hermione at the very last possible moment – he was almost too late, and they declare their love for one another.

So there you have it. If you want to know the details, READ THE BOOK!

Sorry again for discontinuing it, but if you want to read much BETTER stories of mine, read Forever Together But a World Apart, Me and Emily (complete), or Emily and Amanda (Me and Emily's sequel). Fantasy or Reality isn't bad, either, and neither is The New Girl. So, I shall say farewell to all of you.

SpicySugar


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